Publisher's Editorial

Some young congresswoman has caused a national firestorm by stating on her first day in office that she wanted to impeach Donald Trump, calling the bastard president a ‘mother fucker.’ Imagine that.

Anyway, the swine in the oval office, the president who has brought vulgarity in the White House to a new level of low called her remarks “disgraceful.”

Please, he is the rat who brought everyone into the gutter. Now he meets someone who fights him on his own terrain, and he cowers like a screaming pig. Which he is, so screw him. Free speech he can’t deal with. Gotta love it.

A new congress composed of strong women who will speak out against his nasty narcissim, cruel deeds, and outright lies. Tough luck, Donald Duck. You made this world happen. You can dish it out. Can you take it?

The president is a fucking pesticide, a cancer on the country, even worse than Athlete’s Foot. He is the national emergency, but it’s nothing America can’t deal with. After all, we survived Sarah Palin and Dan Quayle.

Let’s face it. Swearing is offensive, but all of us are guilty sometimes of doing it, usually when we are put on hold by Comcast for an hour. I just don’t think any of us ever contemplated a president who would go on a social media tool like Twitter on a Saturday morning and call out his political adversary a childish name by employing crude four-letter words.

Things can and have been worse in America. You have to know our history. Vice President Aaron Burr once shot Alexander Hamilton. Two hundred years later a Latin guy won a Tony for it. Then he got deported by a guy who two hundred years from now will be remembered as a White House man whore.

Listen, the best way to protect your rights is to use them. No good citizen always trusts their government. Yes, it can happen here. People forget Adolph Hitler was elected. Question authority before it questions you. Standing up for your rights has got to be more than a 1960’s reggae song. It has got to be your life’s mantra.

The harsh reality of 2019 is that the blonde-haired White Aryan in the White House has the maturity of a chipmunk in heat. It is just a matter of time until, like Richard Nixon, he starts talking to the statues of Abraham Lincoln late at nite in the East Wing.

Therefore, yes, I have no problem with a new congresswoman calling to impeach the motherfucker. It’s the least we can do. He is a crook, a con artist, and a criminal who kidnaps kids and blackmails women. Screw him before he does you.

Now, let’s move in to what really matters, like SFGN’s 9th Anniversary Party, Wednesday, Jan. 23 at the Grille on the Drive in Wilton Manors.

From 5 to 8 p.m., I will be holding court and we will be giving away manly foods like free tiny cocktail hot dogs and Swedish meatballs in a fancy bourbon sauce.

There will be a cash bar, live entertainment, and the Grille will offer a price fixed dinner afterwards, which will include the restaurant’s mouthwatering skirt steak. Your mom may not have cooked it, but you can even trust the Grille’s meat loaf. It’s the new hot place in town.

Everyone is invited. Now it is time for Chairman Norm’s Rules of the Road. Record them religiously, because unlike the Bible they do not require you to slay your brother if you catch him sleeping with a sheep.

I don’t care what your station in life is. If you try to cut corners, eventually, somewhere, someplace, you will inevitably hit a curb. Tow the line. While your hands may get coarse, there is no knot you won’t ever be able to untie.

Things take time. Learn patience. But don’t expect it today. The impossible is reachable. Every kid from New York knows that thin little trees can grow through concrete sidewalks, but life is still slippery. Wear rubbers.

Don’t let someone else getting angry ruin your day. Their ignorance should not govern your life. You have your lover for that. If your French fries are cold, don’t shoot the cook. They were hot when they came off the stove. Trip the waiter instead.

It is OK to take a day off now and then, but not during your first week of work. Remember, your grandmother can only die so many times. Still, don’t work too hard. The chances are you will never meet anyone whose dying words were, ‘I wish I spent more time at the office.’

Love life, live each moment as if it is your last, but keep a piggy bank hidden under your bed just in case. Believe in and DO NOT ever sell yourself short. Behind your back, other people will do that for you. Have some class. Don’t wear sandals to theater openings.

Don’t worry if you miss your ex. Over time, your aim will get better. Remember that good work ain’t cheap, and cheap work ain’t good. And the good you do will come back to you. But damn, be careful. So does the bad.

The thing that matters most of all is that to accomplish anything, you must stay alive. It really beats the alternative. Therefore, avoid gargling with muriatic acid or pulling a pit bull’s tail. Visit Mykonos, lie naked with the Greeks, and remember that there is life without Barry Manilow. Do Fantasy Fest in Key West at least once.

Keep in mind that just because something is popular does not make it right and what is right is not always popular. Like that medical joint by your desk. You used to go to jail for that. In places like Pensacola and Pennsylvania, people still do. So don’t celebrate by the shore while some people are still drowning in the ocean. Half the world does not have shoes. Don’t complain about the color of your laces.

Choose your friends carefully, because fair or not, some dogs have fleas. If you lie with them, you may get up with them. Don’t be foolish. The best indicator of future behavior is past behavior, so don’t hang out with OJ Simpson. The motherfucker was so guilty…

Finally, for today, America is a land of second chances. But we don’t live in Mayberry anymore. You can open your heart, but lock your doors just in case. And like Baseball Hall of Famer Yogi once said, “you should go to your friends’ funerals or they won’t go to yours.”

See you on the 23rd at the Grille on the Drive. You should be able to make it there despite the national emergency of grandmothers and their 8-year-old children massing a force of barefoot immigrants on our nation’s southern border. We will have them outside the restaurant valet parking. Anyone can drive better than Floridians.